


What are baby witches called?

by oroszlan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, The Golden Trio, Time Travel, peter pettigrew gets whats coming to him, they are COMING FOR YOU PETER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 14:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oroszlan/pseuds/oroszlan
Summary: Halloweenies.alternatively - how Harry, Hermione and Ron did it all again, fighting the Very Dark Forces Of Evil (more commonly known as 'naptime')





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi!   
> this is my first proper fic. if you read all the way to the end, there'll be another shitty baby pun for you.  
> (if you haven't guessed the basic plot here yet i'm disappointed in you.)

It was a dark and stormy night, of course. What other nights are there, for this type of magic? The storm had rolled in hours ago and had draped itself across the rolling hills with little intention to move - it was quite content to sit back and let the rain pour forth.

In a small house, in Godric's Hollow, a boy turned over in their crib.

In a home in Hampstead, a girl chewed mindfully on the end of her hair.

In the Burrow, a boy snores quietly, sleeping peacefully.

Then the thunderclap _, of course, of course,_ the thunderclap.

Lightning lit the windows for a precious second and all three children shot upright in their beds.

The light illuminated a lightning bolt scar for a brief second on three very different foreheads - one, sitting on the brow like it belonged there, the crown of a king.

One, stretching down from a mess of curly black hair over equally dark skin, nearly splitting the brow,

The last almost invisible against the pale skin, but glowing fiercely to match the red hair it was surrounded by.

Each child awoke silently, gasped, and thought,

_Where am I?_

_How is this possible?_

and so, this is where their story begins.

 

* * *

 

Harry awoke to an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar house, with unfamiliar magic pulsing round him.

His first instinct - to cry out in outrage  - he wrestled down with a great ferocity. Who knew what awaited him here? No, Harry Potter wasn't the type to be taken down easily -

he could be patient. He could be smart.

He stood to get a better look at the dark room, pulling himself up by the wooden bars of his cage, his body suspiciously weak.

Potions, he thought grimly. He must've been drugged - they had been so careful, and still, still here he was, weak and helpless.

He made it upright, only to be struck by a sinking revelation, as he squinted through the gloom -

There was no cage, no potions, no enemy out to get him.

It was simply him, alone in his childhood room, alone in his old cot. His body was weak because it was not his body, not yet.

He couldn't stop the tears from falling then, nor the sobs that tore from his throat -

because here he was, alive, unharmed, and most importantly _unscarred._

And if he was unscarred - 

he paused his hiccuping sobs for a minute, unaware of the other people in the house beginning to stir -

_Oh merlin's saggy_ **tits,** he thought fiercely, mind leaping from one conclusion to the next - if he was in Godric's Hollow, that meant - that meant -

He went silent as the door to his room opened to reveal the silhouette of the man whose legacy Harry had always tried so hard to uphold.

"Dada?"

* * *

Hermione's first waking thought was somewhat similar to Harry's although she didn't know that.

She glanced around the room; there was her small bookshelf filled with well-worn books; there, her favourite toys in the toybasket.

Hermione took three deep breaths to calm herself - she estimated she was around two, now, and accidently inducing a tantrum was the last thing she planned on doing tonight.

Her parents were evidently asleep, judging by the silence in their house, and Hermione sits down with a thump at the thought of her parents.

She hadn't seen them since they moved, since she made them -

She stuffs one, tiny fist in her mouth and tries to battle with her rising panic.

_Be sensible_ , she scolds herself fiercely, breathing beginning to slow slightly, her chest still heaving in her anxiety.

There isn't anything she can _do right now anyway_ \- she can't possibly make it to Devon like this, no bus would take her at this time of night -

Her eyes lit up as she started to formulate a plan.

The Burrow. That's where she'd go. The Burrow had Ron, and Mr and Mrs Weasley and the Twins, and sooner or later it would have Ginny as well.

Yes, she thought grimly as she lifted a leg over the side of her cot and began hauling herself up. The Burrow.

* * *

Ron Weasley does the most sensible thing out of the three of them - he turns over and goes back to sleep. His problems can wait for another few hours, until the sun is up and he can think straight.

Ron Weasley hasn't spent this long being scolded by Hermione for hurtling headlong into danger for her lectures to fail him now.

He wouldn't want to do anything _rash_ at this time of night, now, would he?

(Hermione, who had eased open the ground floor window and was now halfway to the streetcorner in order to summon the Knight Bus thought, _Ronald is going to be insufferable when he finds out about this_.) (She sticks her tiny arm out for the bus anyway.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do baby pythons play with? Rattle-snakes.
> 
> alternatievly - The Trio's Terrifying Adventure With Adults

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter! review, comments, better jokes appreciated

Harry stops crying, too shocked to do anything other than _breathe_.

"Heya kiddo," says his dad, his **_dad_** , and Harry just reaches up as his dad leans over the cot.

Circe, it's his dad, his Prongs, his protector - this is the man Harry had wished so fervently to meet one day. He runs his hands over the familiar-yet-different face in wonder, toying with a pair of thick-framed glasses and yanking at a strand of hair, so like his, and it's all he can do not to cry again. His dad cradles him to his chest and hums quietly, and Harry giggles a little as he's tickled under the chin.

He realises now that the magic in the house is so unfamiliar because it's his parents' and his heart sinks a little at the thought because how can he protect them like this? He cannot watch his parents die again, wont go back to the Dursleys and the cupboard. He wont.

He twists in his dad's hold, and looks him in the eyes, determined now, If anyone can change the course of history, it'll be him. He'll make everything _right_ again.

His dad leans in a little closer until they are nose to nose, green eyes meeting brown ones filled with mischief. Harry lays one tiny, tiny chubby hand on his cheek, and he means to say something meaningful - something important to the man he has spent his whole life looking up to - but he just hums and says, "Pwongs," instead, hampered by the speech ability of his younger self, unable to convey the feelings he expresses. "Yes," he adds on, patting the cheek as gently as he could.

It might not have been the words he wanted to say, but he thinks James understands anyway, from the wide grin that spreads across his face and the kiss he recieves in return on the forehead feels like benediction.

Harry knows, right then and there, in that unfamiliar dark bedroom, that he'll do anything to keep them alive.

So he lets his dad put him back into the cot, and close the door behind him - he has plans to make, after all, and he can't afford to be distracted by his parents' or a baby rattle, or the like. It's undignified, he finds himself sniffing, before catching himself. It's such a _Malfoy_ thing to do, and the very thought draws him up short. Plans. He should. Plan. Yes.

It'd be so much easier if Hermione was here, he thinks as he tries to estimate the distance between the small toybox and the window, half-formulated plans whirling round and round in his head.

Hermione. Ron and Hermione. He blinks in surprise. How could he have forgotten? If he's here, maybe..maybe they are too!

He ignores the nagging doubt in the back of his mind, and begins trying to figure out how he's going to get to the Burrow. If he can get to Ron, they can get to Hermione, and together they can figure out what to do.

(He still remembers the lectures he got on their 'camping trip' about rushing off alone without them - he's learnt his lesson. Three wands are _always_ better than one, especially if you need to break into the Ministry.)

* * *

 

The Knight Bus was just as Hermione remembered it - warm, brightly lit, and an utter _deathtrap._ How it was even _legal_ was a mystery to her - after convincing the conductor she had a 'whoopsie' and got a fright and 'poofed' away - a very convenient piece of 'accidental magic' indeed, she had found a seat and prepared for the ride to Ottery St Catchpole. The bus had no intentions of obliging it's young passenger, she had found - she had done her best to secure herself, but it was sheer luck that saved her from cracking open her _very tiny and delicate skull_ when the bus drove off with a bang!

The next half hour for her was spent dodging falling trunks, other passengers and trying to avoid having her tiny body hurled through the front windscreen. Safe to say, she was more than a little displeased by the time they had made it to West County, and more than a little more inclined to hex the balls of the next person who so much as breathed in her direction back into their unfortunate body. If she had her wand, that was, but she didn't, and thought grimly that she'd have to settle for biting them instead, as she darted out the doors of the (obnoxiously) purple bus and down the lane that was as familiar to her now as her own home.

The Burrow rose in her vision as she trotted towards it, cursing the growing aches in her tiny legs - she simply wasn't built for this kind of exercise, she knew, and her body would reach it's limits sooner rather than later, and she would need to rest.

Thankfully, she was able to slip through the hedge and make her way up to the back door, only to find it was locked.

 **Damn** , she thought feelingly. Now what?

Her cleverly thought out solution (not in anyway inspired by the sappy rom-coms she and her mum used to watch) was to throw stones at Ron's window and hope to the highest heavens that Ron had the same room, and that he remembered the same as she did. As she hoped Harry did. It was a bit awkward, her body having no sense of coordination or power, but she managed it after her seventh or so stone, and was rewarded by the familiar figure of a lion slithering down to the ground from the opened window.

She almost laughed at Ron - after all, he used to have an Animagus form of an adult lion, full mane and all that he was dreadfully vain about, and now he was reduced to a scraggly mohawk at best, the animal (presumably) having changed to mirror his body.

As he gets closer, he nuzzles her side through her pajama tshirt, and she scratches behind his ear . If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that nothing had changed - that she was nearly twenty, not just-turned-two, and Ron was tall again, his grin infectious despite all they had seen in the recent years.

It does not do to dwell on dreams, she sighs, and forces herself to return to the present.

Ron shook out his maned head, and fixed her with a questioning look. "We need to find Harry," she tells him, tone a little wry. They'e been chasing after him like this for years, running headfirst into whatever danger he had managed to get into the very middle of, and Ron grins back, all oversized canines, but he nods. Time to go drag Harry out of yet another mess, he seems to sigh as she hauls herself onto a precarious perch on his back. With a chuff that seems almost like laughter, he starts off for the road as Hermione murmurs directions, leaving the Burrow behind them.

She resists the urge to sigh, and pushes away her melancholy - she always seems to have to leave the Burrow behind, leave everything behind in order to go dashing off to the (sometimes very literal) warfront.

The only reason she doesn't express it to the night air is because of Ron.

She knows he'll be feeling the loss of his clan a lot more fiercely than she will.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you hear about Mrs Dimwit’s new baby? She thought babies should be pink, so she took this one to the doctor because it was a horrible yeller.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is a baby bee? A little humbug.
> 
> "Why is it, when something happens, it is always you three?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> third chapter!!
> 
> three tiny babies would be like having three tiny devils. just saying

Harry is not pleased when he awakens the next morning - he misses his four-poster in the tower and the familiar comforts of the Gryffindor den, and resigns himself to a fate of making do without. For another ten years at least, _merlin_.

His mother waking him up for breakfast nearly induces a gods-bedamned _heart attack_ as he desperately scrambles for any baby-related information he possesses from his care of little Teddy. _Is he going to have to breastfeed?_ is a question that has him in near tears because he is not putting his _mouth_ anywhere fucking near his mothers tits, _Jesus_.

(he is ridiculously relieved when he is given a bottle with a milk substitute. Far less traumatising than... _that_.)

(Harry immediately decides that Ron and Hermione will never hear of this. **Ever**.)

His morning, after the trauma of breakfast, improves considerably once he is able to camly observe his mother, who gives him a smile as she sets the dishes to washing themselves. Her auburn hair looks like Fiendfyre in the sunlight, moving with a mind of it's own, and Harry amuses himself by trying to pick out the different shapes in it.

He's in the middle of trying to rationalise a giraffe in a particularly twisty strand when he hears a faint but distinctive roar from somewhere nearby.

Without pausing to think, he's up and racing for the window, because he knows that sound, knows that call - it is _home_ , and it is _family_ , and it is _warmth_ , and above all it is _brotherhood_.

Somewhere out there is Ron, and Harry scrambles up onto the sill, taking advantage of his mother's temporary inattentiveness to _twist and grow_ until he is not a boy but his Animagus form, that of a (formerly great, now a lot skinnier and scragglier) Golden Eagle, and he takes flight in a rush of feathers, his very magic singing out for his oldest friend.

* * *

Harry, forever oblivious to his surroundings, doesn't notice when a panicked Lily calls James and races out after him - his heart is set on the lane a few streets away where Ron waits, and as he descends with a sharp, joyful cry, he sees Hermione is with him too, all but bouncing up and down in glee to see him. He crashes into the group with a thump, sending them all sprawling with a groan, but it doesn't take long until they are furiously hugging and yelling incomprehensively in the sheer joy of seeing each other alive and well in the circumstances. They definetly don't notice when the two adults catch up with them, with matching bewildered expressions at the shrieking dogpile of toddlers.

"Is that the Weasley kid?" James asks Lily with a bemused frown. From the other side of the pile of writhing children, Lily shakes herself, appearing to regain her composure. "I think so," she answers. "I'll Floo Molly. She'll be out of her mind with worry."

James is content to wait out the excitement, and instead ponders over the issue of his son being a fully-fledged (hah!) Animagus at his age, and resolves to owl Dumbledore as soon as he has a moment. Even if Albus couldn't shed any light on the situation, it'd at least make him feel a lot better.

By the time the children have separated, he's at least 70% sure he's lost some of his hearing from the high-pitched racket, but looking at the trio who grinned at him, the three toddlers a mess, with sticks in their hair and dirt smudged all over, he can't bring himself to care as he begins leading them back to the house with a rueful smile.

Really, he thinks, he should've known that his son would be such a troublemaker considering his genetic makeup.

* * *

Molly, fortunately, is at the Burrow, and one of the boys, Bill maybe, Lily thinks, as he's one of the older ones and set to go off to Hogwarts soon, calls her.

The Weasley Matriarch steps through, looking somewhat faint, and Lily is quick to tell her that they found Ron safe near the house, and he was just off getting cleaned up with James. Molly relaxes somewhat, and accepts a cup of tea, wrapping her fingers round it gratefully.

She sniffs. "None of my boys have ever run off before - I didn't even expect -"

Lily smiles, although it was a touch brittle. "Harry pelted out the window this morning, took me totally by surprise. I understand,"

"Y'know," says Molly, "Arthur's been thinking.."

When the two boys hear the unmistakeable laughter echoing down the halls, they freeze.

It can't mean anything good for them, that's for certain, although their fear is somewhat mitigated by anticipation. The Marauders, in full, were coming to the house for a meal that night, and Harry was certain - well, Hermione already looked smug, so he was pretty certain - that they'd be able to spring their trap for the rat that night.

All they had to do now was wait.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now, your reward -
> 
> How does a baby get food when it’s hungry? Womb service.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The downfall of Peter Pettigrew - Pt 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fourth chapter! constructive criticism welcomed!

* * *

Harry wasn't wrong - Ron had casually seated himself close to the dining table along with a roll of thread he had picked up and looked to be in full mischief mode, which left him and Hermione to distract the adults while he worked his magic.

(Hermione, of course, chose to do this through full-out emotional manipulation, and quietly began asking Lily and Molly about her parents. They really had been a bad influence on her over the years, it turned out.)

Harry takes James as Hermione works the women, and toddles up to him carefully where he stands on the porch, scant metres away from where Ron appears to be trying to spell an _Avifors_ or possibly a _ducklifors_ charm onto the bottom of a glass.

They stand in silence for a minute, before Harry hangs his head in remorse, and James starts to patiently explain to him that he shouldn't run away like that, and that they were scared. Harry sniffs, and James scoops him up, and takes him out into the garden, and begins to talk about flying. He sits, enraptured, and ignores the _Epoximise_ charm Ron uses on one of the chair seats, because his world has narrowed to this - the feel of sunlight on his shoulders, the heady scent of the flowerbeds, and the life in his dad's voice as he describes a Porksckoff Ploy he once made during his time at Hogwarts. 

He cannot imagine anything more perfect.

So, he is surprised when there is a delighted yelp from inside the house, and he begins to toddle in (oh, how he misses his _legs -_ he wasn't _tall,_ per say, but anything would be better than this- )

When he hears the barking, he accelerates without thinking, bursting into the living room at full speed, shadowed carefully by James, and all but launches himself at the much-beloved figure of his godfather with a shriek.

Sirius, bless him, catches him around the waist and swings him up into the air with a roar, and Harry can barely breathe between the spinning, and the shrieks that tumble from his lips between the giggles, and thinks, for a moment, that he could probably cast a thousand Patroni from this memory alone.

"Dadfoot!" he exclaims once the world stops spinning, and his dear Sirius replies with "Prongslet!" in exactly the same tone before crushing him to his chest.

Harry inhales deeply, taking in the scent of _firewhiskey-sawdust-tobacco_ _o_ that is purely Sirius, before wriggling free, and dragging him towards 'Mione and Ron, eager for them to join in on this reunion, considering how much they risked for him to free his godfather previously.

* * *

All of their carefully-laid plans, painstakingly-applied jinxes and pranks, however, turned out to be useless when Peter Pettigrew came through the Floo with a grin.

The Trio tensed, and the ball they had been (unskillfully) knocking around rolled away from them, coming to a rest at Remus's feet.

Their eyes were drawn like magnets to where James had grabbed the rat's left arm to drag him into a fierce arguement Lily and Molly were having -

and they watched in horror as Pettigrew's sleeve fell down,

revealing,

his pale, inked forearm.

They scrambled quickly for the protection of their former Professor as the yelling began, with the assumption that when hexes started flying, they'd at least be behind the very-hard-to-kill one in the room (barring Harry himself, of course).

They _then_ saw the amber eyes of the wolf, and promptly changed course, instead diving beneath a small table as Moony charged his former friend with a deep growl.

"Shit," Ron giggled nervously as Mrs Weasley began firing of a series of impressive curses to match her impressive language. "Shit, shit, shit,"

They barely even noticed other Order members beginning to arrive, and instead stared wide eyed at the carnage occuring where they were playing not 5 minutes earlier.

Hermione was shaking, her hand stuffed firmly in her mouth - her older self was accustomed to this level of violence, but a toddler very much wasn't, and she could feel her control slipping away from her.

A hand slipped under their table, fishing, and Hermione yelped, letting out a stream of bluebell flames out of sheer instinct, causing the hand to retract before somebody tackled them bodily, sending them careening off to the side.

The fight was only ended by the arrival of Auror Moody, who they were desperately, pathetically glad to see, who let off a loud _crackbang_ and began yelling immediately.

As the spy (and others, others!) were rounded up and carted off, Lily approached their table, and crouched down.

Harry couldn't help himself - he saw her face, streaked with blood, and he thought for a wild moment, _petunia_ , and he flinched.

He flinched away, and back into the arms of Ron and 'Mione, and away from her.

(sisters do look alike, after all, and he was all-too-used to Petunia reaching in and dragging him out into the light.)

Lily looks impossibly hurt, her face falling in abject misery, and Harry cannot bring himself to move, cannot bring himself to leave the cupboard, his breathing too sharp and quick and -

His mother is coaxed away by Moody, who firmly tells her that she needs to go get cleaned up, and that he'll watch over the kids for the time being, wooden stump splayed almost protectively in front of their hiding spot.

Lily starts in a high voice, "But he's my _son-_ " and Moody must've given her a look or something, because she backs off, and Harry is able to breathe again, now there are no _grasping reaching searching_ hands, and just the familiar, steady presence of Moody, who is no doubt eyeballing them through the table.

(he does think he sees a hint of approval in his grim face when they eventually settle quietly around his feet, out from under the nice, safe table, plans for sticking charms and slippery doorhandles long forgotten)

("Harry, Ron," he greets them, and narrows an eye at 'Mione, who's curly black hair has frizzed wildly as it slips out of it's pleats. She smiles at him, more gums than teeth, and he says, "And you?" perfectly politely, as if talking to an adult. "'Mione" she sniffs back, all haughty mannerisms as if it is _so rude_ that he does not know her name already, and he acquiesces with a twitch of his lips)

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> avifors/duckifors - turns a person into a bird or more specifically for the duckifors spell, a duck  
> Epoximise is a sticking charm 
> 
> Hope to see the baby soon! I bet he's running out of womb!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the problem of hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like comments, reviews and better baby puns  
> What is a baby?  
> A soft pink thing that makes a lot of noise at one end and has no sense of responsibility at the other

 

"But where will she go?" The group ask over her head quietly as they reel from the revelations the night has already dealt them. Hermione sits at the feet of Mad-Eye and focuses on Harry and Ron trying to sneak long-gone cold food from the table. "Where are her parents?"

Hermione turns her face away and moves silently towards the promise of a bit of chicken.

_(This is not a problem she can solve, and she hates it.)_

* * *

It's not that strange to bed down with her boys that night - they are children, after all, and the Potters had graciously offered to keep an eye on Ron for the night while Mrs Weasley attended to the rest of her brood. She's grateful for the oppurtunity, curls up close, and tries not to think that she's probably going to be sent away back to London in the morning, alone.

She hasn't been alone, without her boys for years, had risked life and limb for them. She did not want to wait ten _years_ to be able to see them again.

She falls asleep to that very thought.

The children remain unaware of the conversations that carry on long after they retire for the night.

"Gone?" asks the Leader of the Light, eyes serious. "You cannot be serious, Emmaline."

Emmaline Vance shrugs, her drawn face grim. "Yes. The memories are just -" she waves a hand in the air. "They have no memory of ever having a toddler, and are intending to make their move to Australia in the coming weeks in order to settle down. They believe the warmth will be good for their health." She sniffs. "I'm not wrong. The house had traces of accidental magic, as you would expect from a child her age. Her magical signature was just beginning to develop."

Benjy Fenwick laid a hand on her arm, dark brows furrowed, face thunderous. "Nobody would suggest you were mistaken. The implications, however.." he trailed off, before seeming to shake himself a little. "Wee 'un's tend to slip up with their magic, sure, but removing any traces of themselves from their parents memories?" He shrugged effortlessly. "Hex me all you like, but I'm calling it as I see it."

Dorcas Meadows nodded, and Marlene McKinnon looked thoughtfully at Lily, who raised one sleek eyebrow in return.

"What will become of the girl, then?" she asks, reluctantly. "She's close with Harry and Ron, they've proved that."

There was a murmur of agreement from around the room. "A curious matter indeed," Dumbledore agrees, commanding the attention of the room with ease. "But not the most pressing one. I believe it would be wise to keep the little one close at hand - we wouldn't want any more inadvertant adventures, after all."

"I'll take her," offers a gruff voice into the resulting quiet, a little hesitant.

In the crib, Hermione rolls over in her sleep, Ron tightening the tiny fist that grips a strand of her hair.

"Are you sure, Alastor?" Dumbledore questions. "Children are not easy, my old friend. I should know, after all!"

Alastor grins, wide and sharp. "'Nother way to keep me on my toes, you know that. Ain't never had time to settle down but," he shrugs. "She damn near burnt off Fletcher's arm earlier when he tried to grab 'em. Think we'll get along just fine."

Dumbledore nods, and smiles, twinkle beginning to return to his eyes.

"She'll be a target," Caradoc Dearborn warned, mouth twisted into a scowl.

Moody scowls back in response. "More than she already is?" he shoots back.

Dumbledore frowns at them both. "Now - on other matters, my friends -"

* * *

 

 When they tell her in the morning, Hermione doesn't cry at first.

She sits there, deadly silent as they take Ron back to the Burrow, and tell her that her parents are gone.

_(She wishes Ron stayed.)_

They think she doesn't understand, and explain kindly that one of their friends are going to be looking after her.

Hermione wonders idly who, before discounting the thought. As long as it is not her former Potions professor, she thinks she could handle anyone.

_(she thinks idly of Professor Lupin, and books with hot chocolate. Of Harry's godfather, and growing up fierce and free.)_

She closes her eyes, eventually, and turns away when James tries to cuddle her close.

She needs - she needs -

 _breathe,_ she reminds herself. What she **needs** is to keep a hold of herself.

(She sits out in the garden by one of the hedges, head bowed, until she remembers herself, rationalises her thoughts. This tiny body is evidently not well equipped for strong emotions and she needs to keep her cool.)

(She doesn't think of the new _Wendell and Monica Wilkins_ at all. She cannot live in fantasies, after all, and refuses to allow herself to imagine a life in Australia beside them, without Voldemort or the war.)

(She doesn't think of them at all.)

* * *

When Moody comes by to pick her up, she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.  


Harry peers at her worriedly, and she gives him a reassuring smile.

_Constant Vigilance_ saved their lives more than once, and Hermione thinks assuredly that if being a Moody is what it takes to be better, she'll be the damn best of their lineage there ever was.

(She's already got a headstart after all. It wouldn't do to waste it.)

(she doesn't allow herself any more tears. She has work to do now, and she has to be believable, has to be smart, has to be three steps ahead and she _relishes_ in it with unadulterated glee. It's the best challenge she's had in years.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some cake for mom and dad, but the baby will have to order womb service!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end

They are allowed to meet up semi-regularly, now, and they find a great comfort in that, in knowing it had not all been a dream.

They grow up as kids. Precocious kids, sure, but kids who do not know a life without their respective guardians, and they are grateful for that.

(even when Lily and Molly pulled out a baby harness to make sure they didn't wander off again. really. they were so grateful for that.)

 

Harry grows up to be tall, and strong like he never was able to before. _(He doesn't flinch at small spaces)_ and is an extraordinary flyer, already-sharp skills honed by eleven years of learning at the knee of one of the best Chasers he knows. He plays with Uncle Padfoot until he can't run anymore, and his Uncle Moony helps him orchestrate the most wonderful pranks on his mum and dad.

Harry wants to be a professional Quidditch player some day. He's tired of chasing after Dark Lords.

 

Ron grows up with a fierce and healthy love of his family, and spends time with them whenever he can. He also gets roped into Fred and George's pranks as soon as they figure out that Molly was much less likely to rip into little Ronniekins than them.

(Ron accepts this with glee, and spends his time covering everything his little hands can reach in glitter, much to the consternation of Percy, who's poor, scrappy cat gets the worst of it.)

He grows up with two uncles, Gids and Fibs and is happy. He might be a sixth son, but he knows his own worth, and that is what matters most. He also discovers his talent for what Trewlaney called 'The Inner Eye', and spends one memorable summer when he is eight learning how to read bones and entrails.

(He thinks of a willow wand and windfalls of unexpected gold and Tom Riddle and Moaning Myrtle and all the little offhand things over the years.)

 

Hermione grows up with access to a wealth of magical information and sources, and a guardian who is all too willing to answer her questions.

(He regrets this pretty early on. "What's that?" is a common cry at all times of day. When she exhausts this, it evolves into "Why?" and Alastor feels the urge to cry.)

(He answers her questions every time, though. Kids are smart little things, he's discovered. They just don't have the knowledge they need yet.)

Hermione comes along to the Ministry with him, and Alastor bounces her on his knee through Death Eater trials and on one memorable occaison an attack on the DMLE.

She is perfectly quiet and well behaved up until the moment when one of the attackers bursts through into the offices and gets the memorable surprise of a three-year old sabre-toothed tiger sitting on their chest, more than a little grumpy from being torn away from her colouring-in book.

(The Aurors on duty are more than a little surprised)

(Alastor just laughs and laughs. Of course his little girl was hiding something like that up her sleeve.)

 

When they meet again on the train,

they turn their faces North.

North, to their home.

North, to Hogwarts.

North, to destiny.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> update

quick q! would anyone me interested in a sequel/follow up to this?

**Author's Note:**

> How do you get a baby astronaut to sleep? You rock-et.
> 
> thank you, thank you, I'm here all week


End file.
